


In Your Eyes

by cydonic



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Canonical Character Death, F/F, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Love Confessions, Post-Canon, Truly just a little get together fic I don't know what else to say, grief and moving on in a different kind of way, previous canon seth/allison
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-17 17:53:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28978446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cydonic/pseuds/cydonic
Summary: All she’s ever done is chased her feelings in the bodies of others, convincing herself that she doesn’t close her eyes and dream about her fingers tangled in pastel rainbows, her lips against ones that are both delicate and strong in equal measure.
Relationships: Allison Reynolds/Renee Walker (All For The Game)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13
Collections: AFTG Mixtape Exchange 2021





	In Your Eyes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Me_Being_Difficult](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Me_Being_Difficult/gifts).



> Hello!
> 
> I am excited to share with you my mixtape fic - it was a really fun intro into writing about these two excellent girls (who should be girlfriends lbr). I was very much inspired by a few select lyrics from this song, and that's basically how we got here. 🥰
> 
> Feel free to follow me on twitter at [@_cydonic](https://twitter.com/_cydonic), I'm most active there!

_I tried to find love_  
_In someone else too many times_  
_But I hope you know I mean it_  
_When I tell you you're the one that was on my mind_  
In Your Eyes - The Weeknd

Allison knows he can’t see her, but that doesn’t mean she won’t put in the effort.

It’s been a year since Seth died. Memories of the night still flood her with feelings of unease - her knowing hands sliding into his pockets, scouring their depths for contraband, coming back empty. Then, later, her ignorant fingers searching his wrist for a pulse, his skin for some life. Her last image of him is his body, cooling on the floor, pale skin with bruised eyes.

Allison’s hand jumps, and the eyeliner smears away from the razor-thin line she’d been creating. She huffs impatiently as she’s forced to accept it and adapt, adjusting both eyes so that they’re bracketed by a thicker, heavier line. It feels too much for a fucking graveyard.

With a dissatisfied exhale, Allison caps the eyeliner and returns it to her makeup bag, glancing at herself in the mirror.

What immediately attracts her attention is not the blush on her cheeks, nor the faint shimmer to her eyeshadow, or the satin finish of her nude lipstick. It is, instead, the person standing behind her, leaning against the doorframe, holding a bunch of flowers.

Allison blinks, eyes narrowed at Renee’s reflection, a question unasked.

Luckily, she doesn’t need to verbalise it. Somehow, since the day they first met, Renee has always been able to read her. What started as an infuriating trait became something welcoming, and then something else. Somehow, though, she’s never been able to parse Allison’s inner feelings. Perhaps that’s for the best.

“I was wondering if I could come with you,” Renee asks, soft as ever, her blue eyes meeting Allison’s and forcing her to look away.

If Allison says no, she knows that Renee will take it in stride. Perhaps the flowers, the pale purple hyacinths and the baby blue forget-me-nots and the white calla lilies, will become a decorative bouquet on their kitchen bench, left to flourish and die within the week.

“Sure,” Allison says, lofty, as if it doesn’t bother her, “if that’s what you want.”

Perhaps the issue is that it doesn’t. Perhaps the issue is that it still _should_. It’s been a year since her boyfriend died, and she has no qualms taking someone else along to visit his grave like it’s a trip to the mall.

“Whenever you’re ready,” Renee says, just as gentle and unassuming, disappearing back out into the hallway.

Allison collects her thoughts as she brushes out her hair, weaving it into a simple braid that sits on her shoulder. Her eyes keep seeking Renee’s in the glass of the mirror, but it’s just Allison, just her own grey eyes staring back at her, full of ever-present judgement.

From the moment Allison stepped foot on the Palmetto State campus, young and aloof and untouchable, Seth hadn’t been the one who drew her eye. It hadn’t been the others before him, either - Luke or Caleb or, on a single memorable night, Marissa, and then the names and faces from nights that _weren’t_ so memorable.

It had been Renee, calm and amiable but not timid, no less firm for her softness. Her eyes betrayed a depth that Allison saw and latched onto, a familiar heat behind their mellow shade. She took Allison’s breath away the first time they met, and she’d been doing it consistently ever since.

But around her neck hung the necklace Renee always pressed her fingertips to like an unspoken prayer, and Allison wasn’t going to drag her down to hell for her own selfish desires. It was easier to pretend, to let the taste of others chase her away, but Renee was always there. Always a balm to whatever hurt they inflicted, kind and stable.

She murmurs something under her breath at herself - it sounds a lot like, “get a grip,” but Allison will neither confirm nor deny that - and clears off the bathroom counter. Then, she returns to her room long enough to pull a denim jacket on over the dress she’s wearing, before she enters the living room.

Renee sits politely on the edge of the couch, and her lips twitch upwards when Allison approaches her.

“Let’s go,” Allison says, offering Renee a hand to help her to her feet.

Renee takes hold of it and pulls herself upright. Alison keeps their fingers joined a moment too long before releasing them. It feels indulgent, but if there’s ever a day for Allison to indulge, it’s this one.

\---

The cemetery’s roses are dwindling in the size and splendour of their blooms, but it’s still a pleasant sight. Already, some leaves have turned from green to rust, scattering themselves over the lawn like misbehaving children. It’s only a mile from the nearest main road, but it feels like a separate world completely, isolated and alone.

Just the two of them.

Allison leaves her ostentatious convertible behind, the only thing in the parking lot, and heads along the path towards Seth’s monument. Renee follows her, a presence at her back that is both supportive and exhilarating.

Seth isn’t far from the parking lot. There’s several granite blocks set into the ground, with small plaques embedded on the side, engraved with memories of loved ones. She keeps a small urn of ashes for herself in memory, but she wanted him to have something else, too - Allison wanted Seth to exist beyond simply her life. She wanted people to pass by, seeking their own departed, to catch sight of the letters of his name - to read the dates of birth and death, too close to each other. She wanted them to read the quote she chose, _“A life, like any other, completely unlike any other.”_ and wonder about the person it was for.

Allison stops before Seth’s memorial plaque, which is the only piece of bronze at the top of a new column. The rest of the granite is below free and waiting to welcome another spirit into its midst. The older ones beside his had aged, patina green, but Seth’s was still black as the day Allison had seen it laid, the words in raised bronze she’d know by touch alone.

Her fingers reached out to brush over the raised lettering of his name, her pink nails curling around the final _n_ of his surname, as if to claw it out and bring him along with it.

Renee materialises at Allison’s side then, close enough that their shoulders brush, the bouquet still held between her delicate fingers. “It’s a beautiful memorial,” she says, because she’s not been here before.

None of them have. None of them _wanted_ to. Renee is the first one.

“Let’s sit,” Allison says brusquely, turning to place herself on the weathered teak bench behind them.

Renee lingers there a moment, her head bowed, one hand held delicately to the hollow of her throat. It’s a place Allison dreams about pressing her lips - it’s a place where a dainty silver cross permanently resides.

Then Renee joins Allison, legs together and knees turned to bump hers. “I’m sorry.”

“What for?” Allison asks, but it sounds tired rather than bitter.

“That you had to go through this,” Renee says, eyes on Seth’s plaque even as Allison turns to stare at her.

_God_ , she is beautiful.

Allison closes her eyes then reopens them, stares at her lap instead of Renee. “It doesn’t hurt. Not any more.” It feels like a heavy confession to give words to, and she awaits Renee to judge her the way Allison has constantly judged herself.

Renee waits a moment before responding, and Allison wonders if she’s picking out the words to convey polite disdain. “It doesn’t have to hurt forever to have impacted you,” Renee settles upon at last, which isn’t as disdainful as Allison had anticipated.

She huffs a laugh. “But if I - _loved_ him, shouldn’t I be sad? It’s only been a year. A year’s - nothing, really. No time at all.”

Renee’s fingers jolt Allison out of her thoughts, and belatedly she realises she’d been clenching her fists in her lap. Calmly, Renee works her nails away from her palm, and then curls her own fingers into the space they vacated. The gesture sends sparks down Allison’s spine in a way that Seth never had, even with his face between her legs.

“No one can tell you how to grieve, or when to move on. It’s all up to you.” Renee turns to look at Allison with a thin smile, and Allison wants to scream at her.

What has she ever done to deserve this tenderness from Renee?

All she’s ever done is chased her feelings in the bodies of others, convincing herself that she doesn’t close her eyes and dream about her fingers tangled in pastel rainbows, her lips against ones that are both delicate and strong in equal measure.

Renee remains silent at her side, hand a grounding weight between hers, though Allison can’t trust herself to move. If she does, she’ll slot their fingers together and never let them part.

She laughs again, instead. “I don’t think I ever did love him,” Allison lets her head fall back, eyes cast heavenward. If Seth is watching her now (not that he’d ever make it to heaven) he’d probably be cursing her out. It’s what she’d deserve. “I mean, I did. Just not like that. Never like that.”

Renee hums sweetly in thought. “Why were you two together?” Her blue eyes pin Allison down, and she can’t pull her gaze away even if she wanted to.

“I wanted something I couldn’t have,” Allison says, and ignores the pointed way Renee squeezes her thumb. “And having something else was better than having nothing at all.”

Renee, smiling pleasantly, tilts her head to the side. Allison contemplates her assessment of Renee - she considers the unspoken companionship they share on the ride to and from away games, the way she always knows what Allison needs to hear, her unavoidably sharp gaze.

Renee always seems to know what Allison wants to say - what she _needs_ to say - but she’s looking now as if she’s waiting for clarification.

Allison sighs, but her storm-grey gaze stays focused on Renee. Here’s as good as any other place to doom herself to hell. “It’s you,” she breathes, barely a sound. If the cemetery wasn’t silent, it would be carried away into the ether, the words as good as unspoken.

She wishes they were, because Renee doesn’t even look surprised.

There’s a thoughtful tilt to her brow, lips parted _just so_ on words as yet undecided.

Patience is not one of Allison’s virtues. She doesn’t actually have many to speak of. Instead of dwelling on that look, the prologue to a polite let-down, Allison squeezes Renee’s hand and then releases it - stands abruptly and returns to Seth instead.

Having something _is_ better than having nothing.

“I shouldn’t have said anything,” she says, loudly, full of bluster that belies the tenderness of her exposed heart underneath. “Forget about it.”

Renee continues to say nothing, and Allison hates it.

Then, after Allison’s heart has beat itself bruised against her chest, Renee finally speaks. “Why didn’t you say anything before?”

It’s a good point. Allison’s had years to bring it up.

She’s had years to bring it up, but she’s been scared. She’s been scared Renee will say no, and more than a little terrified that she’ll say yes. That’s why she’s kept things to stolen, longing glances - to eye contact that lasts a little too long, and physical contact that’s more than a little unnecessary.

“I didn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable,” Allison explains, and gestures broadly to her own neck in explanation.

Renee, surprisingly, laughs. It’s distant windchimes, musical and captivating. “This,” Renee says, placing a hand to her necklace, “reminds me of where I’ve come from, and of where I’m going. It reminds me to treat everyone with kindness and love. It says nothing about _who_ I love.”

It’s not a yes, but it’s not a no. Worse than a definitive answer either way is nothingness, this extended liminal space without a resolution.

“What about Andrew?” Allison asks, changing tact suddenly, turning to face Renee with her arms crossed over her chest.

Renee smiles with uncertainty. “What about him?”

“Didn’t you like him?” The pair of them had been - still were - very close. Despite Neil’s sudden and surprising position as caretaker of the monster, Renee still kept up their laps around the court and their quiet conversations, the sparring sessions that returned her to them with bruises and a brightness in her eyes that Allison wants to bottle up and keep.

Renee laughs again. “I do like him, but not like that,” she says, standing and brushing herself off before collecting her flowers, coming to stand face-to-face with Allison. “I promised you we would never be in a relationship, even if he was interested.”

She remembers that promise. More than the words, she remembers the way her heart fluttered to hear it, even if Allison assumed it was just to help her with one of the bets about the pair of them. “Why?” Allison asks, eyes meeting Renee’s, so close that she can see the mix of colours in them.

They aren’t just blue - there are _depths_ to them. There’s the crisp azure of a cold autumnal sky, where the wind bites at Allison’s cheeks, and scattered grey clouds. There’s the turquoise of the ocean in the caribbean, with its untold stories hidden beneath its surface, seafoam on its edges. There’s the cobalt of an endless night, with the music and conversation and laughter taking a backseat to the fact that Allison can never take her eyes _properly_ from Renee.

“Because I haven’t been truthful with you, either,” Renee says, and she offers one hand. She hovers it beside Allison’s cheek, the space between them suddenly painful.

“How?” Allison breathes, turning her cheek to press against Renee’s open palm.

Renee sighs, and her eyes close. “I like you, too.” Her thumb strokes along the line of Allison’s jaw, and it makes her heart jump.

Allison curls her fingers into the hair at the nape of Renee’s neck, watching the way the rainbow ripples and flows around her fingers. With her height advantage and grip, Allison is able to tilt Renee’s head and capture her lips in a kiss.

Renee opens her mouth, sighs and sags against Allison, letting her lead. Though she’s desperate to map out every inch of Renee’s mouth - and every inch of her body, too, - with her teeth and tongue and lips, Allison restrains herself. She savours the moment. You only get one first kiss. Hers with everyone else has been a result of too much drinking, too little attention.

This, though. Allison wants this to be perfect.

Her lips slide against Renee’s like they belong there, their tongues curling and feeling each other out. Renee is sweet and fresh, and Allison doesn’t think any other taste will ever compare. Though she allows Allison to lead, Renee is not immobile: she is a constantly moving force, digging her fingers into the skin of Allison’s cheek, her teeth pulling on Allison’s lip until she parts with a gasp.

Allison opens her eyes, but doesn’t move. She’s so close that her nose is against Renee’s, the pair of them sharing the same breath. Allison laughs, shaky and airy and delightful, turning and brushing their noses together.

They stay there, in front of Seth’s watchful plaque, caught in each other.

And when it is finally time to part, Renee is quick to snag Allison’s fingers in hers, linking them together without asking. She knows she doesn’t have to.

“Shall we go?” Renee asks, turning her head towards the parking lot in the distance.

Allison, who hasn’t been able to form much of a coherent thought since their mouths separated, nods her head. Then, when they’re several paces down the path, she stops. “Your flowers,” Allison says, looking at the bouquet in Renee’s other hand. “You forgot to lay them.”

“They aren’t for Seth,” Renee says, as if Allison has made a silly little mistake. “They’re for you.”

Allison looks at them, the sweet, cool-coloured blooms wrapped in brown paper. _For her_. It’s simple and natural, not at all like the pretentious bouquets Seth had given her when he fucked up _yet again_. The flowers are interspersed with greenery, leaves and ferns curling out and tempering the colour.

“You were going to say something today?” Allison asks, but she takes the flowers nonetheless, holding them in front of her nose to inhale the scent of them.

“I hadn’t planned on it,” Renee says, leaning up on her tiptoes to kiss Allison’s cheek, scrunching her nose when an errant leaf brushes it. “I just got them for you. Sometimes we forget about the living when we think about the dead. That, and I don’t think Seth was much of a flower person.”

Allison laughs - when was the last time she laughed _this much_? - and puts the flowers by her side so she can reel Renee in with her free hand for another kiss.

She will never tire of Renee’s lips against hers. She will never tire of getting to tangle their fingers together.

And she will never tire of seeing the fire in those eyes and knowing it’s for her.


End file.
